The Dark Enquiry (8 page)

I held her then, and she patted my arm, and when she spoke, her voice was older and calm. “I am right, you know. It is only the love that matters. And one day you will know it, too.”

After Fleur dried her tears, I encouraged her to talk, but the moment had passed, and she confided nothing. I do not know what thwarted liaison prompted her outburst of emotion, but clearly she had been disappointed in love once more, and I cursed the fool who had crushed her tender hopes. She had given me much to think on, and I pondered it as I took myself to Chapel Street, where I found Brisbane in his consulting rooms sitting at his desk and holding a flaming coal in his bare hands.

“Brisbane!” I shrieked. I darted around, looking for something—anything—to extinguish the flames, but he merely rose with maddening calmness and dropped the coal into the fire.

He held up his hands. “No harm done,” he assured me.

I stared at him, open-mouthed. “That was a vile trick.”

“I did not realise you were coming in,” he pointed out.

He went to the table where I had been conducting my experiments with black powder and rummaged in the bottles until he found a solvent. He took up a rag and began to work the stuff over his hands. “Easy enough to apply, but the very devil to remove,” he muttered.

“What is it?” I crept close enough to see that he had been quite correct. There was no mark upon his skin.

“A formula I found in a conjurer’s book. It requires precise amounts of camphor, aquavitae, an ounce of quicksilver and another of liquid styrax shaken all together and spread upon the hands. It forms a barrier for the skin and protects it from the fire. Rather effective, I think.”

He was entirely too pleased with himself.

“Is that what you’ve been doing whilst I was out? Parlour tricks for conjurers?”

He shrugged. “Tinkering helps me to think. I started by making a bottle of spirit water, but I got bored of it.”

“Spirit water?”

“The stuff that Agathe was packing away last night. It looks unearthly, but it’s the merest child’s play to make so long as you have enough matches.”

He said nothing for a moment, letting me work it out for myself.

“Phosphorous!” I exclaimed. “Oh, that is clever. What do they do? Soak the matches?”

“The match heads,” he corrected. “Quite a lot of them in a rather small bottle. The whole mess is left to steep until the phosphorous has been leached out. Then it’s strained and rebottled and corked up. It takes only a bit of air inside the bottle to achieve that glowing effect.”

“So simple and so devious,” I mused.

“Yes, well, that sums up the whole of the medium’s bag of tricks, doesn’t it? Simple and devious.”

I canted my head. “Do you believe in none of them? Do you think them all frauds and charlatans?”

“Have you ever been to a séance before?”

“No, but we children spent one summer trying to conjure the ghost of Shakespeare.”

He lifted a brow as he scrubbed at a particularly stubborn spot upon his hand. “I am sure you had an excellent reason for doing so.”

“Father was in an excessively bad mood. We thought a chat with Shakespeare might knock him right out of it.”

“And did it?”

“No,” I said, feeling myself colour slightly. “We made such a nuisance of ourselves by tipping tables that Father banned us from dabbling in Spiritualism altogether. I think what really infuriated him was when Benedick broke the nose off his favourite bust of Shakespeare when he went behind it to throw his voice.”

“And you have just proven my point. You did not conjure a spirit. You manufactured one. It is the same with professionals. Mediums are frauds and charlatans with a child’s collection of tricks to fool the unwary. There is nothing authentic or genuinely occult about any of them.”

“Perhaps,” I said. I stripped off my gloves and set aside my hat as he finished cleaning his hands. “I have been to see Fleur,” I announced, taking the chair opposite his desk. He opened his mouth and I stopped him with an upraised hand. “I did not follow you. I intended to see her first thing this morning, and she told me you had already been. She said she gave you some advice, the same advice she gave me.”

“That love is all that matters?” he hazarded, his black eyes gleaming as he came to sit at the desk.

“Yes. And I have come to make a proposal. If we mean this marriage to work, to really work, we must make a pact to move forward in perfect honesty.”

He regarded me thoughtfully. “In all matters?”

“Of course,” I replied in an even voice, but the truth was, my hands were shaking. If he did not agree, I could not imagine how we were to proceed in this marriage. It would disintegrate around us.

“Very well,” he said briskly. “I do not much care for your new hat.”

“Brisbane,” I began in a strangled voice. “Be serious.”

“I am quite serious. The brim is too wide and it hits my nose when I try to kiss you.”

“Brisbane,” I said again, and this time he took note of the tone, for he sat forward, his manner now perfectly sober.

“I know. I will always look to protect you, Julia. It is in my bones, as it is with any man, that to love a woman, he must keep her safe. You cannot change that.”

“I do not look to change that,” I told him. “But we agreed to a marriage of partners, and if you do not realise that the urge to protect one’s loved ones speaks to women, as well, then you have much to learn.”

He started. “You wish to protect me?”

“Why else would I have gone to the trouble of kitting myself up as a boy and haring around London in a hired cab? I was afraid you needed help, and I wanted to be that help.” I did not mention my overweening curiosity to learn the nature of whatever secret bound him to Bellmont. My inquisitiveness had often been a point of contention between us, and the less said upon that subject, the better.

He sat back, shaking his head. “I thought you were joking last night. You told me you were there to protect me, and I did not believe you were serious.”

“Deadly serious,” I told him grimly. “I would face any danger for you, risk any foe. You must know that by now.”

He hesitated. It was unlike Brisbane to be at a loss for words, and when he spoke, the words came slowly, as if he were understanding them for the first time.

“Then I have misjudged you. I have expected you to put aside feelings I have justified in myself, feelings I could never separate from myself because they are a part of me. And that was wrong.”

I stared, open-mouthed. “Was that an apology?”

“Very near,” he acknowledged with a ghost of a smile.

“I will accept it,” I said quickly.

“So, my gallant wife,” he said, clearing his throat. “If we are to proceed in honesty, then I will tell you when your skills are unsuited to an investigation and you will accept it?”

“Agreed, so long as you make a fair assessment of my skills and the investigation and do not permit yourself to be blinded by your inclination to protect.”

He tightened his jaw, but gave a short nod. “Agreed. In that case, I must tell you precisely why I went to see Madame Séraphine.”

I sat forward eagerly, my blood beating hard at the thought that at last I had made him understand me, at long last I was about to become a full partner in his work, sharing every risk, every danger, standing at his side.

“Tell me everything,” I urged.

“Very well. I went to see Madame because I was commissioned to do so at the urging of Lord Bellmont.”

I blinked at him in surprise. “You were not there to unmask Madame as a fraud? You were there for Bellmont? What connection does he have to Madame? Did Adelaide visit her for a consultation and offer too great a donation? Or did Virgilia take up with a gentleman too much devoted to the tricks of a charlatan?” I felt giddy with excitement at the possibilities.

And then I noticed his expression. Brisbane was regarding me with something like pity, but he did not hesitate this time. Like a physician lancing a wound, he plunged straight in.

“Madame Séraphine was his mistress.”

“Oh.”

I rose and began to pace the room. I had always found it a vastly interesting place, reflecting as it did Brisbane’s past as well as his passions. It was littered with the souvenirs of his travels, some fine antiques, some trifles, but all of it representative of the man himself, from the camel saddle in the corner to the tiny knot of calico blessed by a Gypsy seeress. I saw none of it as I paced. My vision seemed clouded and there was a buzzing in my head as I tried to make sense of what Brisbane had just told me. To his credit, he said nothing. He held his silence until I was ready to speak.

“He confessed it?” I asked finally.

He nodded. “Yesterday, when he called upon me. He needed my help, and to secure it he had to tell me the full story.”

I gave a short, bitter laugh as I reached the end of the room. “My God, that must have cost him. Bellmont—the paragon of virtue! And did it surprise you to find that his halo was tarnished?”

“Not so much as it surprises you, I think,” he said gently.

I stopped and swung round to face him. “You expected this of him?”

He lifted one heavy shoulder in a shrug. “Expected it? No. But Bellmont is not the first fellow to champion standards of behaviour even he cannot attain, and he will not be the last. He is a man, after all.”

I moved to the chair where I had sat and gripped the back of it so hard I thought surely the wood must splinter in my hands.

“You defend him?” The words were heavy as stones, dropped into the silence.

“I understand him,” he corrected. “For years, he has wrapped himself in the mantle of propriety, permitting himself few diversions from his work. His children are growing up, his wife is growing older. He seeks escape.”

“From Adelaide?”

“From himself. Bellmont will not see forty again, and sometimes that knowledge is painful for a man. He has no other source of excitement in his life, and when Madame Séraphine sought him out, he was flattered.”

“She sought him out?” For some unaccountable reason, I felt a tiny flicker of relief that he had not gone in search of such entertainment himself.

“She did. And in such a calculated fashion that Bellmont was entirely taken in by her. She was introduced by a mutual acquaintance and presented herself as a lady in distress, in need of wise counsel.”

“Nothing would appeal to him more,” I reflected. Bellmont did so enjoy telling others what to do.

“Indeed. The lady knew her prey. She set a precise and perfect snare for him. She flattered his vanity, bringing him along slowly. And when she judged the moment to be ripe, she threw herself at him.”

“And Bellmont caught her,” I added with some bitterness.

Brisbane bowed his head. “There was never a moment they were together that he did not regret his actions or feel the hypocrisy of them.”

I blinked. “Surely do you do not believe that? He must have taken pleasure in her company, felt himself justified somehow in lying with this woman who was not his wife.”

Brisbane shrugged again. “I am merely repeating what Bellmont told me. He must dress the matter up as best he can so he can face himself in his shaving glass each morning. The truth is a bit more sordid, I have no doubt. He did confess that certain difficulties have presented themselves in his relations with Adelaide that did not manifest with Madame Séraphine.”

I moved to the front of the chair and sank into it, covering my face with my hands. “He was unmanned with Adelaide? Little wonder he took up with Madame! If he could see himself virile once more with her—”

“I realise these revelations are painful to you, my dear. Do you wish to withdraw your participation in this particular investigation?” The question was offered up in a silky voice, and it was a seductive one. Two minutes in and already I had learned things I would have given a great deal not to know. But I had come too far to retreat, and I flung up my head and fixed Brisbane with a determined eye.

“How long did the liaison last?” I demanded crisply.

“Two months,” he replied, and I fancied I saw a gleam of admiration in his gaze. “During that time, he was sufficiently indiscreet as to write letters to the lady.”

I groaned. “Of all the stupid, senseless, idiotic things to do! By God, when Bellmont decides to show himself a March, he does it with a full measure of the family recklessness.”

Brisbane’s lips moved as if he were smothering a smile. “Your words, my love. Not mine.”

I resisted the urge to put out my tongue to him. “I presume you were searching for the letters last night?”

“I was. Bellmont has come to his senses and broken off his
affaire
with the lady, but she has declined his request for the return of the letters. He fears she might have planned to keep them for some indiscreet purpose.”

“Blackmail!” I sat forward, scarcely breathing.

Brisbane gave a slow nod. “Precisely. One of those letters leaked to the press could be disastrous for Bellmont’s political hopes, to say nothing of his marriage and the future attachments of his children. He is in a particularly untenable position, and the only recourse for him was to engage someone to retrieve the letters by stealth.”

“So he asked you to steal the letters from Madame,” I murmured.

“Oh, he did not ask me. It was more in the nature of a command. He thought he could hire me,” Brisbane supplied.

I smothered another groan. “And you refused him.”

He gave me a bland smile. “I am engaged at present with a few more pressing cases. I was forced to decline to be employed by his lordship.” I winced. I was not surprised that Bellmont had blundered by offering him money, and I was not surprised that Brisbane had politely refused.

“You made him ask you to do it as a favour,” I guessed.

Some primitive satisfaction shone in his eyes. “I pointed out to him that as a private enquiry agent, my time was my own and I had every right to refuse his trade. But as his brother-in-law, if he asked me nicely, I could hardly say no.”

I goggled, open-mouthed. “If he asked you
nicely?
”

“I made him say ‘please,’” Brisbane informed me, smiling. There was nothing genial or pleasant about that smile. It was the smile of a predator contemplating its prey, and I knew Bellmont had paid dearly for every snub he had offered my husband.